


To Court Montilyet

by brightephemera



Series: FionneNorbertTurin [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24481627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightephemera/pseuds/brightephemera
Summary: Prompt fill:Longing glances, secret smiles, a shy laugh, a brief kiss on the cheek, heart racingThis is not the Angst and Arrogance Regency AU, but the events in this story are consistent with the A&A plot.
Relationships: Male Hawke/Josephine Montilyet
Series: FionneNorbertTurin [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975444
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	To Court Montilyet

Hawke was received with grace by everyone but Trevelyan, who seemed to dislike the Champion thing or possibly the beard or maybe what he’d had for breakfast. It was hard to tell. Hawke talked to the Inquisitor’s people. Problem leaders were nothing new, and here in Skyhold Hawke saw potential for friends, a thought like an antique from an abandoned house. Battered it might be, but somewhere, somewhen, someone might get some good from it.

At supper the lovely Josephine Montilyet leaned forward such that others could not fail to hear. “And how are your friends in Kirkwall? You must have made interesting acquaintances there.”

Hawke smiled brightly. “Oh, yes, the blood of almost everyone who’s anyone in Kirkwall is on my hands,” he said. “Oh, sorry. Was that too honest?” His voice dropped. “Madam, despite the title, Kirkwall has done me no favors. I would much rather hear about you.”

*

Her style and accent were Antivan, yet she seemed bound to the Inquisition. In small ways, as Hawke settled in under Trevelyan’s tyranny, he tried to make her life easier. His plans weren’t always perfect. The anonymous chocolates that he had somebody else deliver mysteriously sprouted an Amell seal on the bottom of the box just before delivery. His messenger swore innocence even after Hawke started stroking his offhand dagger. Josephine thought it was hilarious.

*

It was a little man who rode into Skyhold’s yard, freed one of his feet from the stirrup, started sliding down the other side, seized the pommel for balance, flapped from facing the saddle to bumping the back of his head against the horse’s neck, and finally dropped. He scrambled up and tested his ankle. Then, in a spurt of dutiful recollection, he turned to the saddlebags and pulled out a leather file folder.

From there he only had to ask around.

He found his client seated in a study inside the keep proper, crumpling paper. He raised his nose high enough to avoid watching the desecration of valuable resources. He showed Hawke his folder. “Mr. Norbert Hawke, I’m a representative of Squidford and Knott, and I’m here to resolve certain questions about your property in Kirkwall.”

“Which makes you…an _accountant?_ ”

“A lawyer, Mr. Hawke.”

“Varric!” He was supposed to see to this kind of thing. He had while he’d lived in Kirkwall.

It was Josephine who darkened the doorway. “Hawke? Is everything all right?”

“I’m trying to sort that out. I’ve met a lawyer.”

“But you—” she bit off what might have been an unflattering assessment of his legal acumen. “Let me see.”

To his horror, she walked in and said “Now, then. What does Kirkwall want with you?”

“Josephine, please, don’t. You shouldn’t have to do my laundry.”

“I am trained in laundry, and you are not. Besides, you have been a great asset to the Inquisition. Consider this repayment.” And she plunged into Kirkwall’s demands on Hawke’s dwindling assets.

Over supper she sat among a cloud of diplomats. He looked at her when he could, tracing her features in the bright white light. She had pierced Varric’s web of fronts and treasuries, and understood it well enough to maintain certain convenient lies to the law. He’d never seen anything like it. He was smitten.

*

Hawke spent time in Josephine’s study. As a subject matter expert on the Free Marches and alcohol he was…entirely redundant, but if the hallway was deserted most days he would appear in the doorway, ready to act as sounding board or moral support. Maybe he was still looking for something of Kirkwall, but Josephine Montilyet was something new. He wondered often what would happen if he leaned over and loosed the critical pin in that dark fantasia of hair. He did not test.

*

They were out on a balcony, watching the green rise of spring far below. Hawke felt like someday if people didn’t intervene it would reach the foundations of this castle, and the windows and the rooms and the roof. He did not share this thought. Things just didn’t grow like that.

Josephine tilted her head and looked at his chest. “Is someone waiting for you in Kirkwall?”

“Apart from the assassins? No.”

“I’ve brought up unpleasant memories. I’m sorry.”

Hawke shook his head, reflexively drawing his defenses closed. “It’s over. He’s gone. I’m just lucky he and his sword didn’t choose to side with the Templars while I was there.”

“A man,” she said in a weirdly final tone.

“That’s not in my top five most relevant traits, but yes.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I see.”

Deflect. Deflect. “Is someone waiting for you in…Antiva? Orlais? Par Vollen? Any place you showed up and smiled? You must be fending suitors off with a stick.”

“I…?” She blushed. “No, you mistake me. I have not ever promised my heart. Knowing what the world is, I would have it no other way.”

“Never,” he said in what ended up more final than light a tone. “How dull for the rest of the world.”

“I certainly…that is, I have never been any significant cause for heartbreak.”

“I don’t believe that. Your immediate vicinity is perilous beyond belief.”

She looked away and laughed nervously. “Come, we…I have invitations to draft.”

“And who is lucky enough to receive an invitation from you?”

She laughed again before turning back toward the shelter of her papers.

*

He sat with her at meals when he could. When he couldn’t they kept looking at one another, and smiling when they realized it, and stifling when they realized that. One hot day when he knew the sun was shining straight into her study he came to her with a little bowl of iced fruit.

She gasped. “For me?” Then her smile turned teasing. “Hawke, you have not improved on the ‘anonymous’ question.”

“Maybe I’m making something obvious,” he said.

“Let me take that.” For no rational reason she got up and walked around her desk to take the bowl from a completely immobile Hawke’s hand.

“Josephine?” he squeaked.

“Yes, Hawke?”

“What are we smiling about?”

“Why, I thought that was obvious.” She kissed him like a snowflake’s kiss on his cheek, there and gone. “I fear I have a deadline,” she murmured. “We will share some other time. Very soon.” If she said more it was masked under the pounding of his heart. He turned around, disappointed, elated.

“Josephine Montilyet,” he breathed, “I’m going to court you.”

“Finally,” she whispered, but since he was walking away from her he didn’t hear.


End file.
